


'I don't want to be the woman. I want to be the wife.'

by Lisbeth_Holmes



Series: Sherbet- The Story of Mrs Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Mycroft IS the British Government, Paternal Lestrade, References to Johnlock, References to Moriarty, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Sherlock's Girlfriend, Sherlock's wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisbeth_Holmes/pseuds/Lisbeth_Holmes
Summary: A blonde girl shows up at Baker Street claiming that her neighbour was murdered, annoyed that the police thinks it was a suicide, demanding Sherlock’s help. Sherlock, taking interest in the case, then in her, finds himself a new roommate who brings new challenges, headache, cheeky remarks, a completely new game and never-before-experienced feelings to his life. She can catch him of guard; he can make her be at a loss for words. As we all know, the universe is never so lazy, not only is the girl related to one of Sherlock’s friends, but their past, and from now on their future is connected.Through their adventures, Lisbeth learns to master the art of deduction, while Sherlock learns to master the art of caring. Together they solve crimes, argue frequently, piss a lot of people off, uncover dark secrets of Lisbeth’s past, and last but not least face what Moriarty left behind.Takes places after season 3, and is completely different from season 4. Some reference to Johnlock, plenty of deduction, cheeky remarks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction  
> Not a native speaker, sorry for mistakes or confusion  
> Takes places after season 3, and doesn't take season 4 into consideration

Sherlock Holmes was lying on the couch suffering from boredom. The bullets had run out of his gun, but recharging would have taken too much effort. It was a lucky day for the wall, but not for Sherlock. Just like on a typical London day, the sun hid behind the nebulous clouds it rained cats and dogs. In this weather clients usually stayed at home. But Sherlock desperately –some would say obsessively- wanted a murder.

Suddenly, he heard the door opening as Mrs Hudson let someone in. Sherlock’s eyes kindled, but he wouldn’t even move his little finger. He recognised a feminine voice greeting the old lady, and in the next moment a blonde girl stepped in. Less than a minute Sherlock deducted everything about her. Her long, navy blue coat was just a slightly wet therefore she couldn’t have spent much time in the rain. Clearly, she’d travelled in a taxi. She was around 23, on her shoulder a bag full of books and exercise books as she must have been a student at of the nearby universities. Sherlock noted that she dressed in style; her outfit consisting of a pair of checked, fit trousers, a black top with a blue scarf, a long cardigan and a pair of boots accompanied with simple make-up. A Londoner, obviously. Everything fit her perfectly, so the girl must have been a perfectionist judging by her appearance. She winked insensibly which meant she had glasses, but she had forgotten them, or she was too proud to wear them. The books in her bag indicated that she read a lot, maybe that was why her eyesight was not the best, or of course, it could have been inherited.

‘Murder,’ stated Sherlock in his characteristic deep voice.  
‘Obvious. What else could’ve made me come here in this weather?’ the girl put her hands on her hips. Sherlock frowned as she wasn’t exactly what he’d expected.  
‘What happened?’ asked the detective finally.  
‘My neighbour was murdered.’  
‘It happens.’  
‘But the police think it was a suicide.’  
‘Why do you care? Was he your lover?’  
‘You tell me!’  
Sherlock thought for no less than three seconds:  
‘No. You hated him. Then I ask again: why do you care?’  
‘Because I know that he was killed! The police don’t believe me, despite the fact that I’m right. And I hate the feeling when nobody admits that I’m right.’  
‘In short, someone died, but you only care to be right?’  
‘Sounds a bit selfish, but practically… yes,’ Sherlock eyed her for a second then sprung up.  
‘Ok, I’ll take the case. I like you,’ a smile hovered over the girl's lips.

Two tall figures got in a cab in the heavy rain. As they travelled to the crime scene the girl said that if they were lucky, the body would be still on the ground. She left in a hurry to notify Sherlock in time. On the way to the scene she explained everything important about the man and why she believed that it wasn’t a suicide. Although he was staring out of the window looking uninterested, Sherlock listened carefully. He remarked that the girl had nice observational skills, and deducted that she almost probably was obsessed with detective stories. Maybe, she was a fan of him, but she wouldn’t admit it for the world. Slowly, in Sherlock’s head a clearer image was taking shape of her.

The journey didn’t take more than ten minutes. They arrived in Kensington, an expensive part of London. They got out the cab, Sherlock- always a gentleman- hurried to the scene, so the girl paid. The well-known yellow tape surrounded the front of the street. Sherlock easily stepped over it, so did the girl. She was tall, just 10 centimetres shorter than the detective. The officers tried to keep the on-lookers away, while the experts were working. Nobody held Sherlock up, they got used to him doing what he wanted. They knew very well that they should have asked the girl to identify herself, but they rather avoided the sociopath.

The body was still there. Sherlock immediately noticed that the angle of the fall didn’t indicate a suicide. The girl looked at the corpse soberly, and examined it barely without an emotion on her face. Though, for a very brief moment she looked shocked, but it was so quick that Sherlock nearly didn’t spot it. She looked much older and wiser now than she should’ve been. The detective realised that she had seen a dead person before. Or, maybe she was just a psychopath. Both assumptions were equally likely.  
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ suddenly the girl grunted and turned away to the opposite direction.  
‘Sherlock!’ a familiar voice addressed the detective. ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t call you. It’s a simple suicide,’ the silver-headed inspector addressed the detective.  
‘I’m with a client, George.’  
‘Greg!’ he corrected him and his eyes fell on the blonde figure which he recognised at once. ‘But, hey?! Lisbeth, what the hell are you doing here?’ Lestrade’s jaw fell in astonishment. The girl sighed angrily admitting she was spotted.  
‘I’m investigating, but it’s none of your business,’ she replied petulantly. Now she looked her age.  
‘Of course it is my business. I’m the DI. You aren’t allowed to be here anyway!’  
‘You two know each other?’ Sherlock asked the question he already knew the answer for. He just wanted to break of the argument.  
‘Yes, she’s my niece.’

‘Your niece?’ Sherlock asked surprisedly, even though he suspected that they were relatives. ‘I didn’t know that you had a sibling.’  
‘You can’t even learn his name,’ remarked the girl.  
‘You have a point there… but! You haven’t given me an explanation why you are here,’ Lestrade harked back to the main problem.  
‘You two continue this family reunion while I go to work,’ suggested the detective.  
‘No! Wait a moment, will you?’ the girl laid him by the heels. ‘Like I said, I’m investigating.’ she turned to his uncle ’You’re wrong, it wasn’t a suicide. But you never listen to me that’s the reason why I need Sherlock’s help.”  
‘You are not a detective and you are not allowed to be here! You should be at university.’  
‘I haven’t got classes. Please, Uncle, this can be my case!’  
Sherlock cleared his throat.  
‘I mean, his case.’  
‘But-‘  
‘The girl is right,’ interrupted Sherlock ‘It was a murder. You -as always- choose the easier but wrong solution. The angle is incorrect. If it had been a suicide, the body wouldn’t have been here. And look at his suit, you can still see the trace where someone seized it. He was pushed.  
‘But-‘  
‘And there’s his shoe. On the top of the roof they were fighting and when the killer pushed him he lost one of his shoes. The killer knew that it would have been suspicious if there had been a shoe on the roof. So he went down and put the shoe on the dead man’s foot. However, he made a mistake, he tied it in a different way than the victim,’ the girl proved enthusiastically. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, he was caught by surprise that she noticed the lace.  
‘He?’ was the only thing Lestrade questioned.  
‘Apparently. If he had fought with a woman he probably wouldn’t have ended up dead. And a woman wasn’t able to touch the body, or if she did, she would have paid attention to the lace,’ Sherlock explained.  
‘Yeah, because women pay attention to details,’ added the girl smiling.  
‘Why are you arguing with me Lestrade? You could wait for the autopsy which will show you evidence of scuffle.’  
‘Okay, ‘sighed the DI, ‘then do whatever you want. Don’t smirk Lisbeth, I’ll have a world with you later.

‘You said you had known him,’ stated Sherlock while he was examining the body. ‘More specifically you hated him. You live here. And you’d noticed the lace. A bit suspicious, don’t you think?’  
‘Yeah, and after the murder I went to get help from you to put me in jail,’ she rolled her navy eyes. ’I thought you might be better.’  
‘I didn’t say you killed him.’  
‘And I didn’t.’  
‘Obvious. You’re smart. If you had killed him, you would have been more careful. Although you still could be a psychopath. You could’ve murdered him, then solved the case, and became famous because you were seen with me. And nobody would ever suspect the DI’s niece.’  
‘It sounds quite simple and brilliant. I should’ve done it. Next time… perhaps I will.’  
‘Don’t do it.’  
‘Why?’  
‘Because I’d have to catch you.’  
‘Sounds more appealing,’ as the girl cocked her eye at him, a ghost of a smile flashed upon Sherlock’s face. He went back to analysing the body while the girl casted a sidelong glance at him. So far so good-she thought, took a deep breath and started talking casually:   
‘Now that John’s married he hasn’t got as much free time. You are in need of a new companion.’   
‘I assume it should be you,’ Sherlock carried on the conversation in the same casual tone, not looking up.   
‘Yeah,’ she replied without hesitation trying really hard not reveal her excitement and inner fangirl.   
‘But you’re so-‘   
‘What? Young, unseasoned, not clever enough?’ Lisbeth cut in with a bit of frustration in her voice.   
‘Woman,’ Sherlock groaned out.   
‘What? And what’s wrong with that? I thought you don’t care about what people say.’   
‘I don’t. However, I am not interested in women.’   
‘I know, but John’s married,’ winked the girl with a smirk. Sherlock frowned as she leered at him. Shaking his head he went back to work. The corpse was a middle aged man in bad condition: hands indicating a smoker, overweight causing heart problems. Judging by his clothes he was wealthy, also it was obvious given the neighbourhood. Sherlock found a wallet in the dead man’s left pocket. All the money and credit cards were in it. As the detective expected he had a hoard of cash and some cheques. He was also carrying several kinds of split rings.   
‘He was the landlord,’ stated the raven-haired figure and looked questioningly at the blonde one. ‘You didn’t say it.’   
‘Because it was obvious besides I knew that you’d find out in the first minute.’   
‘You’re not much help.’   
‘Why should I bore you with irrelevant details which you’ll find out anyway?’   
‘You have a point there,’ admitted Sherlock, and went through the victim’s pockets.   
‘Something is missing, isn’t it? His phone!’   
‘Yes. He kept all his valuables close because he feared that it would be stolen. Money, credit cards, keys, he’s got everything, but where’s his phone?’   
‘The killer’d taken it. There was information on it which we could somehow connect him with the vic.’ Sherlock didn’t answer just nodded. The girl wasn’t pleased. She didn’t manage to impress him.   
‘Look! One of the keys is missing,’ pointed out the detective.’16. Do you know the person who lives there?’   
‘Yes. And actually, there was a burglary a few days ago. The CCTVs were hacked, but nothing was stolen,’ Sherlock couldn’t help but smile.  
‘I’m beginning to like this case.’   
‘So, am I of any use then?’ she asked, grinning widely.   
‘We could say that. Let’s have a look at the flat. Now I know why you didn’t like him.’   
‘Yeah, I couldn’t pay this month’s rent. I asked for a week, but he threatened me with eviction.’   
‘Your parents are wealthy. Why don’t they pay it?’   
‘My father is well-off. And I’d rather be homeless than to get help from him.’   
‘Father issues. Typical,’ the detective rolled his ice blue eyes.   
‘Never mind. At least I could join your homeless network,’ the girl joked, but Sherlock certainly didn’t smile.   
‘The owner isn’t at home. The lights are off,’ the detective looked up at the window. ‘It means that we have to wait. Or we could break in.’   
‘No,’ disagreed Sherlock, ’we have to wait until he comes home. Till then I’ll return to Baker Street. Text when he gets home,’ he gave her his number and dashed away. The girl bowed dutifully, but she was very pleased with herself that she received Sherlock’s number. If was for the case of course, but she had to begin somewhere.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oi, Lisbeth!” Lestrade walked up to the girl. ”I need to talk to you.”  
She folded her arms, and huffed in surrender:  
“Ok, I’m listening, you can say how disappointed you are in me, and in fancy words that I’m an idiot, it’s not my business, and I’m being stubborn again,” she listed dramatically, emphasising the last world, rolling her eyes.  
“I’m not your father. Does he know that you’re here anyway?”  
“Even if I died, he wouldn’t notice. He would only be angry because he had to go to the funeral. And he hates them.”  
“That’s not true,” the inspector rebutted her at once.  
The girl frowned, and was just about to ask which part he was referring to when her uncle continued:  
“Yeah, I admit, but I would be very upset! And I’d have to do a lot of paper work, so don’t do it!” he wagged his finger at her playfully.  
Lisbeth smiled and hugged the DI. Under the surface she did love her uncle. She admired him, despite the fact that he wasn’t a genius. Maybe that was the reason why she loved him so much. He was caring, kind, a bit silly and generous. She always regarded him as her real father.  
“I have fears for you. I don’t want you in the middle of a murder investigation.”  
“But Uncle, you know that’s what I always wanted to do.”  
“I thought you would be the 13th Doctor.”  
“Yeah, but besides that. And Sherlock is really a great man. You’ve succeeded in keeping me away from him, but now, there is no force in the world that could do that!”  
“Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m concerned.”  
“I don’t get it. You know me and you know him.”  
“That’s literally the problem!”  
“Oh, C’mon. What is the worse that could happen?”  
“I think you’ll need a new insurance.”  
Lisbeth smiled from ear to ear. The detective inspector shook his head knowing that nobody in this world will be able to stop his stubborn niece.

 

Lisbeth was sitting in the window deep in thinking, having the neighbour on her mind. She tried to figure out what’d happened. She assumed that the burglary and the missing key must have been somehow connected. While she was deep in the train of thought, the experts finished the work and the ambulance took the body. As watching the car she woke memories of the past. Dreadful and tragic pictures have been haunting her ever since she was sixteen. She saw a woman murdered. Not just a woman, her mother. She noticed that she was shaking, so she took a deep breath in order to calm herself down. Needless to say, that day changed her life. That was the day when her childhood ended and she grew up. Most girls would’ve been shocked, broken, traumatised. She had been there, too. Then she pulled herself together and decided that whatever it took, she would find her mother’s killer. That was so typical. A girl, whose mum was killed becomes a detective and finds the killer. But this was real life. The police hadn’t managed to find the murderer, not even with her father’s and uncle’s influence. She had to figure it out on her own. Growing up on crime stories was just the beginning as they became reality. It didn’t take much time before she was able to break into the police database, either with her father’s laptop (okay, that took months to decipher his code as it was a random combination of numbers and letters), or choosing the easier solution, stealing her uncle’s password (which was her birthday). The next step was to sneak into crime scenes. But her father never let her and even Greg wanted to keep her away from this world. But she couldn’t get over it. What a boring story would it be if she could?

Thus we arrive at another milestone when Sherlock became famous. In the hope that he would be able to find her mum’s killer she was desperate to meet him. However, her father sent her to study in the United States. He said that it was too intricate, and she was too young to understand it. He had done everything, but it was beyond his range. And the most significant warning was that she had to let it pass. She had to forget it, or she would be killed.  
Naturally, she did exactly the opposite. But what did her father expect? If he strongly forbids something, it becomes more fascinating. So far so obvious. What’s more, she was her mother. She has never forgiven her father for giving up.  
When Sherlock “died” that hope disappeared, but not forever. She felt in her bones that he wasn’t dead. Apparently she was right. She applied for a course in one of the universities in London. Believing that the detective died her father let her come home. That was a big mistake.

She was brought back to the present by catching a sudden movement in the corner of her eyes: a tall man in a hurry came to the crime scene. Lisbeth recognised him at once. Sending a message to Sherlock she opened the window because she wanted to hear whether the man spoke to anybody. He didn’t, just showed the police his address card. They let him through. He nervously stepped over the yellow tape and then he opened the front door on the third attempt as his hands were shaking. He just proved her theory right, he was the killer. She thrummed in heebie-jeebies. She wanted to ask him a dozen questions, and prove the police that once again they had ignored the obvious and she was right. But unfortunately, once again she had to remind herself that she wasn’t a police officer. Hundreds of ideas came to her mind, but she had to wait for Sherlock. Oh, God, she hated being powerless.

About eight minutes later the navy blue coat appeared. Lisbeth opened the door for him and then they went to the suspect’s flat straightaway.  
“Any plan?” inquired the girl clapping her hands together, her eyes glittering.  
“Yes. I’ll speak with him while you wait in your flat,” Sherlock looked at her not sharing her enthusiasm. At least not on the surface. A smile almost hovered over his mouth. He wondered whether he has ever met someone so delighted about a murder as him, and some psychopaths. John, of course was an adrenalin junkie, but he was much more balanced, more cool-headed.  
“What? Why? I’d like to talk to him,” her face fell immediately.  
“Yeah, but last time I checked you weren’t a police officer.”  
“Neither were you.”  
Sherlock showed one of Lestrade’s cards proudly to prove her wrong. However he was not expecting what came next:  
“So you’re the one who is always stealing them from uncle,” she poked her in the chest looking up to him frustrated, “Have you any idea how complicated it is to get a new one?! And all the time he gets into trouble when he asks for a new one. He is thought to be senile.”  
Sherlock waited calmly for the child to finish the fireworks. Actually, he found it a bit amusing.  
“Finished?”  
Lisbeth just nodded grumpily.  
“Off to the flat. I’ll call you when I need you.”  
“I’m feeling like a child. Or a dog,” she slammed the door.  
However, she regretted doing it because she wanted to hear the conversation. Finally she opened t slightly.  
“DI Lestrade. I have some questions about the murder,” the well-known husky voice introduced himself.  
“Sure. I wasn’t home at that time. I was in the bar on the corner. Steve’s, I think that’s the name,”  
a higher voice replied, Lisbeth smiled, noting first mistake.  
“Can anyone establish this alibi?”  
“I’m not sure. It’s a bar, but you can ask the owner, he’ll probably remember me.”  
“There was a burglary, but you didn’t report it.”  
“Yeah, but nothing was stolen, so it would’ve been unnecessary.”  
“One key is missing from the owner’s split ring. 16, it’s your flat,” Sherlock bombarded him with question after question, not leaving him time to make lies up. Lisbeth had to admit he was good.  
“I know nothing about it. He didn’t mention it to me.”  
“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Sherlock was about to knock at the door when the girl opened it.  
“He’s the killer,” her smile flushed with victory.  
“Obvious,” said the detective stepping into the flat. “What’s your opinion?”  
Lisbeth’s face fell. She was completely taken aback by him being interested in her opinion. Of course, she didn’t show her happiness, but it was glistening unmistakably in her eyes.  
“He said that he wasn’t at home at the time of the murder. You didn’t inform him about the time interval. So how did he know? Second mistake, he replied at once when you asked where he had been. An innocent man has to think about his alibi. Except if he expects to be a suspect. Third mistake, his voice thrilled a bit when he lied. I wish I could’ve seen his pupil.”  
“You’re right. I see it in a slightly different way, though.”  
“Alright. Don’t spare me.”  
“Firstly, his shoes. They were muddy, or rather sandy. He was obviously on the bank of the Thames. He’s taken care of the phone. We’ll never find it, it’s at the bottom of the river. Then there are the laces, tied exactly the same way as on the victim’s shoes. He’s well-built and strong. It wouldn’t have taken much effort to push the victim to death. But the main evidence is the blood on the edge of his jeans. I’m one hundred percent certain that it’s the landlord’s.”  
“Well, I couldn’t see that through the walls, could I? It’s enough to arrest him.”  
“No, no, no. Don’t be boring! Ask the right questions!”  
The words shocked her. She didn’t want to disappoint Sherlock. Quickly she ran through the details that she might have missed.  
“The key! And the burglary. Why didn’t he report it?”  
“Yes! Something was stolen, something that he couldn’t report,” Before the girl could come up with an answer he continued in excitement. “He sells drugs. The landlord learnt about it and stole the supply. He found out, demanded it back and they agreed to meet on the roof. He was a complete idiot, obviously, couldn’t have chosen a more dangerous meeting place.“  
“But it was an accident,” the girl joined him. “He didn’t want to kill him. Now he won’t get his drugs back. Oh, God. I’m feeling so stupid now that I couldn’t see it. Teach me how to deduct!”  
“You can’t learn it.”  
“I can. You learnt it too.”  
“Yes, but I’m a genius,” Sherlock stated humble as always.  
“So am I!” she replied without hesitation.

“It’s your turn. You have to get drug from him,” the detective turned to her, his eyes sparkling with excitement.  
“What? Why don’t you do it?’ taken aback asked the girl, ‘You’re the junkie, not me.”  
Sherlock puckered his brows; just for a minute he seemed resentful.  
“Why are you complaining? Make yourself useful! You said you wanted to have a case, now it’s the opportunity.”  
The girl bit her lips, pondered for a second then nodded firmly.  
“Okay. But it’s for the case. If I get into trouble-” she loured upon Sherlock, but was interrupted.  
“Shut up and go! You wanted to be my new companion then prove that you’re suitable.”  
Sherlock could see how his words have slapped her in the face. If for nothing else, just to prove him wrong now she was in.  
“Fine,” she made up her mind.  
Just for a moment Lisbeth hesitated before knocking at the door. She took a deep breath as she realised she was about to get drug from a killer. It couldn’t have been more dangerous. Besides it couldn’t have been more thrilling.  
“Hello,” she smiled charmingly as the door opened. “I live next door.”  
The man in his twenties looked at her suspiciously. He couldn’t recall seeing her around. Of course, it was a big block; he wouldn’t know everyone who lived in it, though he would definitely remember her… Lisbeth recognised the confusion in his eyes, but decided that smiling brightly was her best chance. It was her turn to prove Sherlock that she was suitable. She had to play the role perfectly. If that required buying drugs then so be it.  
“I was wondering if…” she bit her lips unsteadily aiming to sound as innocent as it was possible while trying to uncloak a drug dealer, and almost certainly a murderer. “I heard that you sell…you know…”  
The man’s eyes kindled, but he still wasn’t convinced enough.  
“Please. I need it. Wiggins has disappeared, “she’d read about Wiggins on John’s blog, so she hoped that maybe he knew him. She ran her fingers restlessly through her blonde hair and gazed despairingly at him. Sometimes she needed to take advantage of her appearance, and this was a perfect moment for that.  
“Yes, Wiggins has lain off. I could give you some though,” he winked at her and disappeared in the flat. Lisbeth’s face irradiated with happiness. Her smile was replaced by worry as the man returned and gave her a little white packet. She smiled at him angelically.  
“Thank you, darling. Sherlock!” she yelled and before the man could react the detective was by her side.  
“Lestrade is on his way,” he stated and snatched the pocket away from her. The man reacted at once as he realised he had been tricked. It happened so quickly. As he caught hold of the girl, he pressed a knife to her throat.  
“One more step and I’ll kill her,” he warned Sherlock with faint note of desperation in his voice. Lisbeth felt her heart beat heavily. Although there are some whose blood would run cold in a situation like this, she wasn’t one of them. As the detective’s eyes met hers, she winked at him and he nodded slightly in response.  
“Okay,” Sherlock stepped backwards with his hands in the air, one of them still holding the little package, “I’ll do what you want just don’t hurt the girl.”  
When the killer’s attention shifted to Sherlock, Lisbeth wringed his hand and the man dropped the knife. The very moment Sherlock stepped closer and head-butted him while the girl grabbed the weapon. They carried out the manoeuvre in perfect synchrony.  
“Don’t mess with me idiot. I’m a Lestrade,” said Lisbeth exulting, and high fived with Sherlock. He couldn’t help but smirk at her.  
The very moment Lestrade arrived he found the unconscious killer on the floor, his niece giggling with a knife in her hand, and the detective looking at her pleased, holding unmistakenly some drugs. Oh God, what this two had done already? he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

“You have to admit we’re a good team,” smiled Lisbeth taking a bite of fries. She at Sherlock were sitting in a restaurant, having dinner. More specifically the girl was eating. After the DI arrived Sherlock explained how and why the man murdered the landlord, proved his theory, sorry, their theory as the girl corrected him indignantly, uncovered the drug supply, threw insults at the police, and left Lestrade speechless, all this within five minutes. Then they went grab a bite. So it was just business as usual.  
“Yes, our cooperation was bearable despite the fact that it was a particularly dull case,” he murmured as he was writing an e-mail to John, keeping him posted, passive aggressively suggesting it was high time for a new chapter on his blog.  
“Oh, C’mon,” she pointed a fork at him, “you enjoyed it. Especially the end. And when uncle found us. And when it turned out that the blood on the killer’s jeans was the victim’s blood.”  
“Obviously,” he muttered rolling his eyes as the sound of quick typing filled the air.  
“But… I don’t get it. Why did I have to get drug from the killer? The blood was enough evidence,” Lisbeth was getting frustrated with him being occupied by his phone.  
“It was an exam.”  
“Did I pass?”  
“With flying colours,” he finally looked up.  
The girl’s face lit up in a delighted grin. Sherlock couldn’t help but smile too. He hated overly cheerful people, but he couldn’t resist to be caught up by the girl’s enthusiasm from time to time.  
“So will we solve the next case together?”  
“Yes. And it could be the case that you wanted to see me about.”  
“Which case?” asked the girl curiously playing with the straw in her drink.  
“Your mother’s.”  
Lisbeth’s hands froze than she folded her arms insecurely as her gaze met with Sherlock’s.  
“How do you know about my mother?” her voice quivered for a moment.  
“Do you want to hear it?” it was a great offer from Sherlock. Normally he would’ve started the showing off regardless of the consequences. But he knew that it was a tender spot for Lisbeth, and for some reason he didn’t want to scare her off.  
“Yes. I want to learn,” announced the girl determinedly. He put down his phone.  
“You’re self-confident and serious. It’s clear that you had to grow up early. It might have been because you had younger siblings, but it’s obvious that you’re an only child. Therefore something must have happened to you, something traumatic. When you saw the body you weren’t upset, you didn’t react like a normal person which suggests that you’d seen a corpse before. Just for a moment, I almost missed it, you quivered. Childhood trauma. You have almost probably seen someone close to you dead. You don’t have a big family, so it was your mother or father. You mentioned your father, for that reason he’s alive, besides it’s obvious that you hate him. Well, I mean you don’t hate him because he’s alive, maybe you hate him because he works a lot, maybe because he doesn’t have time for you, or he tries to control you, but the most probable reason why you can’t stand him is that he didn’t find your mother’s killer. That’s so apparent a blind could see it. Your uncle is a DI, so it had to be a very complicated case if it is still not solved. Furthermore, your father is well-off, and I assume that he’s clever because you take after him, with all due respect Gail isn’t a genius. He is probably an important man, and yet he couldn’t catch the killer. This means that the case is a tough nut to crack. In conclusion you need the help of the world’s only consulting detective. Which happens to be me.”  
Gasping, she shook her head:  
“I’m enthralled. I took note of it. You have to teach me more.”  
“I don’t mind if I do,” even Sherlock was surprised by his words. He enjoyed attention, people being amazed by him and tried to educate John, but never imagined he’d have another eager student.  
“Magnificent! I just need to find a new flat and everything is perfect.”  
“I have a vacancy,” said Sherlock, pretending he hadn’t noticed the hint.  
“Arranged,” Lisbeth replied, pretending she wasn’t over the moon.

It was the happiest day in Lisbeth’s life. Or she thought that it was. To be honest she didn’t go to Sherlock just because of her mother’s case. Of course, to solve it was one of the most significant goals in her life, but… She really fancied Sherlock. High-functioning sociopath detectives always were her type. Especially when they were tall. And skinny. With ice blue-eyes. So when they were Sherlock.

Lisbeth was walking on the street her face radiating with happiness. She made it! She was so proud of herself and at the same time she felt extremely lucky. She had never dreamed that this would happen. Her perfect little world was interrupted as out of nowhere a black car pulled up next to her. At first she was just looking at it from the corner of her eye, but then she got a message from an unknown number.  
Get in.  
MH  
She knew very well what MH meant. Sherlock’s arrogant and snob brother, Mycroft. The British Government personally. She didn’t feel like getting in, but she was aware that she didn’t have another choice. She’d been expecting this meeting nevertheless. If she wanted to be Sherlock’s new companion, she would have to prove her worth to his brother. Finally, she sat in.

The journey lasted 15 minutes and due the black windows she didn’t recognize where they were going. She wouldn’t be able to find way back, and this was concerning her. She hated when she was unaware of something. The car stopped, and the driver opened the door. Despite the fact that she was suspicious and well, let’s say, not very happy because of this meeting, she smiled at the driver. She seemed self-confident and cool. Whereas Sherlock didn’t know anything about human nature, she knew humans all too well. She just pretended that she couldn’t see anything while she was very good at handling people and playing roles. Looking around she took note that she was in an old factory. Typical meeting place.

“Lisbeth Lestrade. It’s been a long time. I see you’ve grown up, you’ve become quite gorgeous and clever. But if I’m not mistaken, you should be studying at the university, not involving yourself in cases which are none of your business. I see you haven’t changed. You are still getting your own way,” standing in front of him was the aforementioned big brother –literally-looking disapproving look at her, a superior tone clear in his voice.  
“Mycroft, I should say I’m glad to see you, but we both now that’s not true,” replied coldly the girl without a smile.  
“And you’re as kind as always. You never cease to disappoint me.”  
“What do you want?” Lisbeth had enough of small talk. ”You don’t have time for insulting people. Not outside of work, leastwise. And it’s such an inconvenience for you to leave your office just to reprimand me. It’s about Sherlock, isn’t it? You don’t like seeing me with him.”  
“I’m here because of a favour,” Mycroft stated, and raised a disapproving eyebrow. ”Your father asked me to keep an eye on you. Especially to keep you away from Sherlock.”  
“What a pity that he’s down under,” remarked the girl sarcastically and the man clouded over.  
Lisbeth’s father, William Lestrade was the most arrogant, unpleasant, narrow-minded, argumentative person she ever had the misfortune of meeting. After her mother’s death only her dad was left for her. However, for some reason she could never understand, he maintained quite a good relation with Mycroft. One might even call it a friendship, if these two emotionless people could have that…  
William never paid attention to his daughter, just when he was criticising her. Nothing was ever enough good for him. Lisbeth was not the perfect little angel he imagined. She inherited her mother’s courage, determination, stubbornness and what he most regretted, her sassy remarks. He was always working, well, he was the other half of the British government, a colleague of Mycroft Holmes, so he never really had time to deal with the rebellious teenager who set her mind on chasing one of the most dangerous criminals in the world. These were just a few of the reasons why Lisbeth hated her father. She had a difficult childhood. She wanted to be an actress, or a writer then a detective, but of course her father had different plans for her. He made her go to excellent boarding schools. She could break off the host when she went to university in London and she attained her dream of meeting Sherlock. She decided that nobody will stop her from being his new companion. Nobody, not even Mycroft. Sherlock was so like her in a way. Although, she wasn’t as clever as him, but in exchange she knew people. And that was the knowledge which Sherlock lacked. That was the reason why they fit together. They enhanced each other.  
“Your father disapproves of investigating with Sherlock. You’re here to study,” Mycroft explained leaning against his umbrella.  
“He wants me to obey him just like a puppet. Just like I did for twenty three years.”  
“Neither do I like that you’re with Sherlock,” as Mycroft emphasised the pronoun, the girl smiled bitterly.  
“Of course you don’t. You can’t comprehend happiness.”  
“That’s not the reason. You’re distracting him from his main business.“  
“Which is being alone and being bored?”  
“Which is to find Moriarty by any chance.”  
“You don’t see the point. That’s why I’m doing it. Sherlock needs a new companion.”  
“He’s got John.”  
“With all due respect John is not suitable for this assignment. And he’s married know. Besides, I know that it is not your cup of tea, but Sherlock needs a woman in his life.”  
Mycroft responded with a bitter laughter:  
“And I guess it would be you.”  
“Of course. Just a sociopath can handle a sociopath. Or a woman. And luckily I’m both of them.”  
“England would fall, if you were together.”  
“It survived the Reichenbach fall. Worse can’t happen,” the girl winked at Mycroft knowing that she won a battle, but not yet the war.

When John paid a visit to Sherlock he only found a blonde girl sitting in his armchair. She was enthusiastically reading something on Sherlock’s laptop; what’s more, it was his blog. In his flat, in his armchair, reading his blog. What the bloody hell?  
“Oh, John,“ the girl smiled welcome, “I’m sorry, it’s your armchair, isn’t it?”  
“Lisbeth Lestrade,” she stood up and offered her hand. John shook it, his jaw almost dropping in confusion.  
“Nice to meet you. I heard and read a lot about you. It’s a pleasure,” she smiled warmly at him.  
“Yeah, nice to meet you, too. Greg mentioned having a niece, but if I am not too blunt, what are you doing here?  
“I’m Sherlock’s new flatmate.”  
“You… are what? I spoke with him three days ago and he didn’t say that he’d found a new flatmate.”  
“Yes, because I met him yesterday,” she replied without the wink of the eyelid. Inside she was swimming in happiness and enjoyed very much the scene and John’s confusion.  
“And you’re here right away,” John stated shocked. “Did he take you to a crime scene?  
“Actually, we’d already solved a murder. _The key suspect_ , I was reading it. Funny title and great story, though I am not in it.”  
“I am sorry, he mentioned a blonde girl, but he said that you only played a minor part in solving the murder.”  
“A _minor_ part?!” she gasped, her eyes glistening with fury. “Wait till that bastard gets home, I will make a _minor_ scene.”  
John giggled in astonishment. He had to sit down.  
“So… you’re the new me.”  
“No, no, no!” she brightened up immediately. “I’m not a substitute you. Or I hope I’m not.”  
“You have to know something if you’re here after a day. And that’s his laptop. Did he give you the password?”  
“No, I figured it out.”  
“Are you sure that you’re a Lestrade?” John asked half serious, half in awe. She giggled in response. Minor part – she murmured under her breath.  
When Sherlock came in John and the girl were having a whale of a time.  
“Hello John. I see you’ve paled up with Lisbeth,” he greeted his friend. The girl knew that she was sitting in his armchair, so she stood up and collapsed on the sofa. She simply stepped across the coffee table. She had only been living there for one day, but it felt like as if it has always been where she belonged.  
“Is that my laptop?” asked the detective casually.  
“Yep.”  
“You’ve broken the code,” he stated, not being amused nor frustrated.  
“Yep.”  
“Good.”  
“Oh, Darling I unhitched the gas,” out of the blue she added.  
“You did what?! It was an experiment!” Sherlock complained furiously jumping up. John frowned and could not decide whether he was surprised by the casual conversation of breaking the genius’ code, or by the girl calling his friend darling and by him not protesting. “It had to boil for ten minutes-“  
“No, just for eight minutes.”  
“Ten!” he yelled hysterically.  
“Eight. You have to recalculate it,” they eyed each other. In the end Sherlock disappeared in his room, slamming the door behind him.  
“So, Sherlock made a mistake?” John looked at the girl in awe.  
“Of course he didn’t. Besides I didn’t meddle in his experiment. I just wanted you to finish your sentence.”  
”He will be outraged when he finds out.”  
“No, he will be pleased with himself that he was right and I wasn’t. So you were saying...”  
John winked and shook his head smiling. He had never been able to imagine Sherlock with a woman, but this girl… She will make Sherlock much better or the third word war will break out:  
“He had two women is his life. If I could say that. There was Janine, they dated, they acted like a real couple. Then it turned out that Sherlock wanted to get to Magnussen’s office and Janine was his PA. He even proposed to her. He’d been pretending that he was in love her just to get to a bloody office.  
“Yeah, I guess, she was a nice girl. But just an ordinary girl,” John thought it was the best to ignore her comment.  
“Then there was a really special relationship. I can’t tell you whether it was love. But Sherlock was upset and depressed when she died. The violin drove me crazy.”  
“Oh, it was the dominatrix, wasn’t it?”  
“Yes. She was the woman,” said John, placing emphasis on the last two words trying to mean the only woman to who Sherlock indeed paid attention to.  
Lisbeth smiled at him and without thinking she replied:  
“Okay, I got it. But I don’t want to be the woman. I want to be the wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game is not yet over!  
> The story continues with Sherbet series part 2 entitled: "This is called a relationship". Next chapter on Friday.  
> Thank you for reading :)


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